


Rift Walkers

by baroquebitch



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Cannabalism, Daedric worship, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Fantasy, Thieves Guild, Werewolf, possible gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 14:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14022252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroquebitch/pseuds/baroquebitch
Summary: The Dragonborn is dead. News of dragons are going rampant, and many of being left homeless. Jarls are trying to keep the people calm and assured, but with the war going on, tensions are rising, and efforts are failing. When dark business matters begin to get affected, and prey is getting more and more scarce, perhaps it is up to three unlikely individuals to save what is left of Skyrim.This is the tale of three souls: the Dark Brotherhood leader, a Forsworn general, and a Stormcloak soldier.





	Rift Walkers

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking interest in this story! I've always been wrapped up in the adventures from each save slot, and, on a whim, wanted to share some of my gameplay experience, as well as breath life to the OC's I've created for the Skyrim game. I plan to make each chapter long, just so that it stays as a short series of maybe five chapters, and keeping the first few chapters about each individual OC before combining them all in for the last chapter(s). I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I claim the rights to the OC's and the story, however, the canon characters belong to Bethesda.

# Prologue

Jarl of Windhelm, Ulfric Stormcloak, sat handcuffed with gauze wrapped tightly around his mouth. Everyone in Skyrim knew about his 'shouting the High King to death,' but other sources say otherwise. There were a couple of no goods who were on their way to the same destination, innocent or otherwise, and then there were two who were more guilty than most. 

A murderer, in affiliation with the Dark Brotherhood actually, and with a bounty on her head that some choice guards chose to ignore for the sake of extra coin being placed into their pockets. She had been caught in a setup that was going to cost her her life, which, contrary to popular belief by the mocking guards who had captured her, she was fine with. Though, these Imperials were fools to believe that she'd be going out alone. 

Sitting in the other carriage, however, is a Nord Forsworn, and is likely to be killed second, right after Jarl Ulfric. Her crime? Devotion to the Daedra Namira. She, too, has gauze wrapped around her mouth, if only so that she doesn't try to 'feast on her new companions,' as mockingly stated by an Imperial officer. The Forsworn female couldn't wait until her canines were free so that she may tear out that very same officers' neck. 

Helgen was home to a sweet mead made out of juniper berries, and some of the best blacksmiths in the region. The townsfolk were scattered about in groups to gossip amongst themselves as they eyed the new prisoners coming through their wooden gates. General Tullius himself was conversing with some High Elves, which one of captured Stormcloak soldiers scoffed at with hate filled eyes. Children laughed as they ran around trying to find a good angle to look at the prisoners, acting as though they didn't have chores to run, and wanting to see some bloodshed. A couple of dogs were munching on elk meat, paying no mind to the carriages rolling past them. A few queasy stomachs looked anxiously around, silently pleading to all the gods for a miracle that they won't be executed. Begrudgingly, each prisoner hopped out from the carriage, and stood in line for their names to be called up to the block. By no surprise, Ulfric was first.

"Your crimes against Skyrim end here, Ulfric," General Tullius announced as he caught up with the ground to the executioner's block. "Your band of Stormcloaks will run no further."

 _"Death to the Stormcloaks!"_ A shrilly voice called out.

"Justice!" Another unknown voice shouted.

The murderer looked around the lot of them with peaked interest. Is this justice? Two men duel under fair conditions, and because the favorite one lost, the other is instantly marked a criminal. The executioner is a killer too, so why is he not the one to be in line to be decapitated? Mortals were interesting creatures, yes, but also too fragile and annoying to be around. Her ears hurt just listening to their petty speeches and double-standard rules. The cannibal, however, has not taken her eyes off a particular officer. She's been sizing him up, looking for his weaknesses, and she found that after a few paces he had a slight limp on his right leg. Something she could exploit surely, but all in due time.

Everyone watched as the Jarl marched up to the chopper's block, and one of the captured Stormcloak soldier gave his final salute. Just as the ax was being raised, there was a trembling roar that shook the ground. It echoed from the sky, and cast an enormous shadow that engulfed the whole of Helgen. Blinded, everyone started gasping, squinting desperately upwards in attempt to see what in Oblivion could such a monster be. Seconds later, a thundering crash caused the ground to quake once more. Some people fell down to the pebbled concrete, and a few let out a scream. 

Piercing red eyes shone down from the swirling grey, red, and black clouds. Fangs larger than great swords snapped at the petrified mortals. Large wings that spanned over four houses wide fanned down, causing strong winds to knock back the shrieking horses. Another loud shout echoed out of the air, and comets hailed down from the menacing storm brewing about. Several of the townsfolk ran inside the inn and their homes for promised shelter, but soon met their demise as the comets demolished the buildings in one motion, and the fire burned down the rest. The guards took to their bows to shoot arrows at the hide that couldn't be pierced. Mages conjured up anything they could to help bring this beast down, alas, each one failed. 

Those who were smart didn't bother to get wrapped up in this unholy battle. That cannibal that was being mocked found a way out of her chains, and found an unsuspecting Imperial officer, to whom she gladly tore into his neck, gnawing on his flesh, and laughing into his face as blood squirted out from a vein at the side of his neck. Looting his sword, she struck down any who realized what had been done, and trying to stop her. The murderer too left satisfied, as she took down the very soldiers that cuffed her, and managed to snag the memo with the name of an enemy who tipped the guards off. 

Fleeing Helgen was utter hell, and with some scrapes and burns here and there, very few survivors got to see what was left of the burning town from the safety of the mountains.

...  
...

It's been a year since that dragon attacked Helgen. 

News spread like wildfire. There wasn't a living soul who didn't hear about the return of dragons, however, maybe half of them also heard tale of the one known as the Dragonborn. It was an old tale fathers would tell their children to scare them before bed, and not many believed in. Dragons were also said to be a myth - extinct even, but they have returned as well. The one known as the Dragonborn made themselves pretty famous. Cutting deals with the Thieves Guild, getting the favor of the Jarl of Whiterun, and everything else many Nords wished they could achieve. One morning, instead of everyone hearing about this favored hero's progress, they heard of their demise. 

Bandits were beginning to sack more and more villages, raid more and more farms so that they can stock up for their own. Thievery was rising, giving the Thieves Guild some competition, but also slandering their withering name as these unpracticed thieves were leaving a rather bloody mess behind them. Black Sacraments were starting to become some misguided joke. People were hoping to create a contract for body guards for their shops' protection rather than to exact revenge. Jarls were losing control of their towns, and prisons were becoming too full. 

More and more dragon sightings were leaving people stressed and worried that they wouldn't last to see the next day. Some were beginning to make the climb to High Hrothgar to seek the aid of the Grey Beards, however, since the end of the Dragonborn, they've remained holed up in their mountain more so than ever. 

With the world seemingly coming to and end, people were beginning to lose hope... during one unlikely voyage, a particular agent of Sithis has found something of great value that belonged to the deceased Dragonborn. And this is where her tale begins.


End file.
